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’ ‘In any event,’ Gerald told her, with a grin, ‘I can’t marry this one. “It is true. “Oh, you know,” she said. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Collins, you can go now. She glanced into his face. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again.
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